


The Downhill Path

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-02
Updated: 2009-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Turn again, O my sweetest,—turn again, false and fleetest:<br/>  This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track."<br/>"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting:<br/>  This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back." <br/></i>Christina Rosetti, "Amor Mundi"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Downhill Path

**Author's Note:**

> I first had the idea for this about a year ago thanks to pregnancy!hormones. I actually got around to beginning it the day I delivered, then finished it about two months later. This needed some extensive editing to fix the ending, and the dirtybadwrong remains _really_ dirty.

John Winchester couldn't stay in Lawrence anymore. The house was gone, Mary was gone, fires had consumed all his dreams with a raging finality. He had the boys to look after, and the garage didn't matter anymore. Dean didn't talk, just looked at him with wide, empty eyes. Sam was just a baby, months old and helpless, often left lying in Dean's lap. _Take your brother and run!_ he'd said, but he had no idea then that he couldn't do a damn thing for Mary. She was stuck to the ceiling and burning, eyes wide and unseeing, belly slashed open and bleeding into oblivion. Mary was dead, dead, dead, and there was no way to explain how the hell it had happened. John didn't understand what could have done such a thing, and explaining what he had actually seen would simply send him to some kind of nuthouse.

It was a mixed blessing when Missouri Mosely told him of the things that went bump in the dark. He understood now what had happened, somewhat, but he still couldn't explain it. Something dark and evil had killed his wife, had left his children orphaned and traumatized. Something that stank of evil so malevolent that Missouri couldn't come near the wreck of his home no matter how much John had pleaded.

"Don't do anything stupid," Missouri had warned him when he decided to begin researching the superstitions and supernatural. "Those boys lost their mother, and they still need a father."

Dean didn't talk. He couldn't meet people's eyes. He couldn't do much more than look after Sam, trying his best to change diapers and hold bottles when John was too drunk to do it himself. Dean looked after everyone with his solemn eyes and tight lips, the ghosts of fires dancing behind his eyes.

It hurt John to see him like that, to look at Sam and see the ghost of Mary's face. It hurt John to look, so more often than not, he didn't.

He came across references to demons in the older books, the ones that smelled of time and dust and weathered knowledge. He had long since left Lawrence, Kansas; Chicago was cold and empty and full of soulless people walking past him with empty eyes. They reminded him of Dean, looking at him when he left the hotel to do his research, eyes beseeching him to do the right thing and be a father again. But John felt almost possessed. He had to find the truth, he had to know what had happened that night in Lawrence. He had to know what had killed Mary and how he could extract revenge.

But the first reference to demons he found was to a different kind of demon. A crossroads demon.

"You miss your mother, don't you?" John asked Dean, stolen book open on his lap. John was torn; deals with demons had a way of backfiring. He didn't want to do something stupid that would deprive the boys, but he was so lost and miserable that this temptation seemed almost worth taking. If Dean spoke then, if he said anything, John might have lost his resolve. But Dean simply leaned against his leg, clutching at his jeans, nodding in perfect silence. The barely suppressed sobs told John more than words could have.

John picked a crossroads in Indiana. He didn't know anyone there, so there was no one to talk him out of it. "Stay with Sam in the car," he told Dean sternly. Like a good little soldier, Dean nodded with large eyes but didn't say a word. He simply watched as John went to the crossroads and began to form the circle, taking exquisite care to keep the symbols just right. John completed it, and with his eyes closed began the chant that would call up the demon to make the deal.

She arrived as promised, in a slinky red dress and red hair, red painted lips and eyes a golden, smoky color. She was more like living fire than a demon, wrapping herself around John. "You called me. I can taste your pain and fear, and it's delicious." Her lips slid into a sinister smile, something that should have sent chills down John's terrified spine. "Why have you called me here?"

"I want my wife back," John said, voice more steady and sure than he thought he could make it. "I want Mary Winchester back, as if she had never died in that fire."

"Oh, John," the demon whispered, taking his face in her hands. "Your misery is so sweet and tasty. What would you give me if I did this for you?"

"What do you want?"

The demon's lips stretched into a rictus grin, baring teeth. John couldn't step away if he tried. "Are you willing to give me something precious? Something dear? A part of your soul? A life for a life?"

He thought of Dean's silence and Sam's innocence. Rage bubbled up inside of him helplessly. "I won't give you my sons," he told her through grit teeth. "I won't give you my children."

She caressed his face, pressing her voluptuous body against his. "John, dear, I didn't ask for them. But if that's your condition, that's your condition." She kissed his cheeks, one and then the other, one leg sliding around around his waist. She took one of his limp arms and wrapped it around her waist. The other she slid along her exposed thigh. Almost against his will, John could feel an erection grow. He groaned as she shifted her hips, rubbing up against him. "Not this generation, then. I won't take the generations present here tonight." She shimmied in his arms, pleasure shooting through John's body. "Will you take that concession, John? Hm? A life for a life, Mary back from the dead in exchange for one not of these generations?"

John couldn't think, not with her grinding against him that way. His body responded almost against his will, remembering a time before Dean was born. Mary held him in much the same way, her back against a wall in the house in Lawrence, laughing as they danced together. "It's our anniversary," Mary had said, nipping his neck teasingly. "Let's celebrate."

"Close the deal, John," the demon whispered against his ear, thrusting her hips against his groin. "Close the deal and get your life back to where you want it."

John could barely open his eyes as he hovered close to release. When he did, he could see dozens of Marys in front of him. "Dear God," he whispered, watching in horror as they approached him. They were in varying states of burnt decay, becoming more and more like flesh as they approached the circle's edge.

"Not God," the demon whispered in his ear, her hands tight around his buttocks. She squeezed, much the same way that Mary had all those years ago. "Just me, just me. Pick your Mary, John. Pick out your wife and close the deal with me."

He couldn't choose, not like this, not with his mind too far gone and a hair's edge away from coming. Yet he somehow also knew that he wouldn't come until he had chosen, until he closed the deal with the demon. He couldn't push her away, couldn't choose, and was suspended over the razor's edge of agonizing pleasure that she had built for him.

John wanted to shout in anger when he saw Dean creep into the circle out of the corner of his eye. He had told Dean to wait in the car, to watch over Sam. He had told Dean that it was his responsibility to make sure that Sam was all right, at any cost. Still, John couldn't form the words. His mouth dropped open, and he struggled to breathe. The demon all but filled his vision, living fire, drawing the very lifeblood out of him.

Dean looked at each Mary in turn, assessing their decrepit gazes as the flesh began to fill their faces. He watched their eyes, the turn of their lips, the way they reached out for him and John, who was still caught in the crossroad demon's fiery embrace. The look of concentration on his little face was the look of an old man, the look of someone who knew too much and would have to look into eternity once too many times. It was not the look a four year old child should have, and John felt a pang of guilt stab his heart.

Dean pointed to one with absolute surety. "Mommy."

John closed his eyes and leaned into the demon. "Her. The one my son picked out. That's Mary."

"And it is done. Mary Winchester returned to you, and none of these generations present harmed." The crossroads demon kissed John then, tongue sliding into his mouth. Pleasure flooded through John, exquisite and almost too painful for words. He came, thrusting against the demon, hands clutching her close.

When he opened his eyes, John saw Mary. He had been kissing Mary, he had been fucking Mary. The demon and the circle at the crossroads were nowhere to be seen.

"Mary?"

She smiled at him, the way she always did. "Let's go home, John. I'm cold."

She was dressed in the same white nightgown she had died in, and John's heart leapt at the sight of it. "Yeah, baby. Only, that home is gone. We'll get a new one."

John bundled Dean and Mary into the Impala. Dean took the front seat and Mary took the back, cradling Sam in her lap. She sang a soft lullaby, rocking Sam in his sleep.

John looked at Dean in the passenger seat, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile. "We're going to be okay, Dean," John told him confidently. "It's all going to be better now."

Dean looked up at him with ghostly, hollow eyes. _You only think it is,_ John heard. Dean's lips didn't move.

Chilled, John looked back to the road and threw the Impala into gear. He didn't know where he was driving and suddenly he didn't care. He had his family back, dammit. He did the impossible and he brought Mary back. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. He had promised, dammit. He _promised,_ and he did what he could to keep his family together.

Nine months later, long after they settled into a house in Colorado, Mary gave birth to a baby girl. They named her Jessica Marie Winchester.

Jessica had golden blonde hair that curled around her face and the vivid Winchester green eyes. Her favorite colors were red and white and she adored the forest that met their backyard. She and Sam were barely a year apart and were inseparably close. She was always sharing her toys with Sam, and they constantly played together. It was never a surprise to find them side by side, heads bent beside each other, whispering and telling each other secrets no one else could ever know. They seemed to have a secret language all their own, holding hands and looking out for each other like two halves of a whole. Mary would laugh and joke, saying they were constantly in each others' pockets, finishing each others' sentences. She didn't see anything odd about them playing house with Jessica's dolls in the backyard, and John deferred to her in this. Mary thought it was sweet that Sam would play with Jessica that way, so John kept his sissy comments to himself.

Dean had a blustery charm about him as he grew, though his eyes could be solemn as any old man's. He seemed to have a preturnatural edge to him, something that would set John's spine shivering with fear. Perhaps Dean absorbed more of the old books than John had thought he had. Maybe Dean had been awake when John whispered the incantations to himself as practice. Dean knew far too much to be a child, and was far too knowing of the darkness beyond the house. Dean made John uncomfortable and all too aware of his prior failings as a father. John should have protected Dean from the dark, not exposed him to it. He had an old, withered man's soul in his heart and the eyes of the grave. He thrived under Mary's care, under John's watchful eye. It wasn't until he was seven and a half that he began to speak, and it was at school first. He spoke to John last, and John couldn't help but feel as though Dean's censure was coming through. Once he did talk, it seemed to be with measured words. Dean never said anything if he didn't have to, but he didn't avoid talking anymore. He was good with his hands, often helping John at the new garage that he opened. He was good with the books that Mary had him read, and developed a penchant for fairy tales and literature that John disapproved of. "There's no use to keep to book learning," John told him, jaw tight at the sight of those old books in Dean's care. They reminded him too much of those books of demonology and supernatural lore, the books that told of the truth in the dark. He didn't want Dean involved, and had locked his old notes and books away. He had wanted to burn them, truth be told, but was afraid that he might find out that they couldn't burn. John would rather lock them away, bury them, bury the memories of the time he dabbled in the supernatural to get what he needed.

"Oh, it's just books. It's just stories. They don't mean anything," Mary had chided him. "Let him learn. Dean's so smart, he can get into any school he wants to."

John deferred to Mary, and Dean kept at the books in a way that chilled John to see. He was determined and singleminded about his studies, earning top marks in every class. He was sharp, drawing conclusions from varying places. His teachers all recommended advanced classes, private schools, extra courses to really challenge Dean's intellectual abilities. "He's brilliant," Dean's teachers always said at parent meetings. "There's an intensity to him, a real drive to learn. It's amazing, and I feel so privileged to meet a student like that." It was inevitable that he would win a scholarship for private high school and then for college, and it seemed almost inevitable that he would major in comparative literature, focusing on folklore studies.

John tried so hard not to feel guilty about that.

Sam and Jessica were both bright, but didn't have the same intense focus that Dean did. Without that focus, Dean's raw intelligence could have been channeled anywhere. His sense about people was almost uncanny, and John tried not to feel afraid of his oldest son.

John spent more time with Sam and Jessica, almost coddling them and feeding their interest in nature and the forests adjoining their property. Education came easily to Sam, and he gave the impression that he didn't need to study or research to really understand the theory behind anything. He easily won a scholarship to the same private school Dean had gone to, easily made his own mark at the school. He was interested in environmental studies, ecology, waste management, fairness to the world. John didn't know if he was going to be some kind of environmentalist or go into law, the way he could argue his way out of anything.

Jessica was the golden child. She had the honey-golden curls, the vivid green eyes, the smile that was so like Mary that it nearly broke John's heart. She was a dancer, dreaming of Broadway or Hollywood, flitting about the house and fields like an angel on the wing. She constantly made Mary laugh at her antics, and John felt as if the world spun on her shoulders. She was the miracle child, the one that never would have been, the angel born of a demon's deal. She smiled at everyone and it seemed as if the sun was rising. She could do no wrong, the miracle child. She was the baby, the adored one, the gentle loving one that was absolute perfection.

There are none so blind as those that will not see.

Jessica and Sam were a year apart in school. Jessica adored Sam, followed in the wake of his shadow. She knew everything about him, including his secret hiding places on the edge of the woods when he wanted to be alone. He went there often when he wanted to think, when he was troubled about something. He and John disagreed on where he would go to school; Sam wanted California but John wanted the University of Colorado. John wanted his children close, wanted them near family at all times. Sam was smart enough to go anywhere he wanted, and had his heart set on Stanford University. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted environmental sciences or law, and he wanted to be prepared.

It almost broke him to realize he would be leaving Jessica behind. They had always been together. He tutored her in her classes. He comforted her when the girls called her names or pulled on her hair. He had been the one to carry her in from the back lawn when she had broken her leg falling out of a tree. He had held her hand and kissed her tears away after it was set and she was unable to dance for weeks. They shared secrets and dreams, and until she was eleven, they had shared a bed when no one was looking. It had become too much for Sam by that point. Jessica was his beloved baby sister, and they had never been apart since the day she was born. Even so, he was going to leave Colorado for California, and she would be left behind. He loved Jessica more than life itself, more than was possibly normal, more than he possibly should have. She had never been interested in dating in high school, and that had been an embarrassing relief for Sam. He never liked sharing her attention, and it couldn't be healthy for either of them. It was part of the draw for Stanford. It would force Sam to think and act the way normal men did, and he would have to look at girls other than Jessica. Leaving for California could possibly break apart their connection. He didn't know what it was that he felt about it, but he knew that it upset Jessica. She didn't want to be left behind, not for anything, and didn't want to lose him to sunny California.

Jessica wore a white dress with nothing beneath it as she ran across the back lawn. The trees loomed large ahead of her, and she ran with bare feet toward them. She ran unerringly toward Sam, knowing exactly where he would be. She always knew where he was, what he was feeling. Dean knew about the things in the dark, Sam knew how to wrangle his way out of an argument, and Jessica knew about Sam.

Sam was leaning against a tree, back to the house, jeans undone. He had a hand wrapped around his cock, eyes closed and head thrown back as he strained toward release dreaming of golden hair and green eyes. It was all he had allowed himself for years, all he could imagine without that vague, sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was tall and lanky, shaggy hair falling into his eyes, all angles and limbs and awkwardness as he stumbled toward manhood.

Jessica walked toward him, ignoring his startled, shamed look as he tried to cover himself. She ignored his stammers, the flush of shame in his cheeks. "Sam," she whispered, falling to her knees, the skirt of her white dress fluttering all around her. She rubbed her cheek against the side of his erect cock, feeling the bristly coarse hairs against her face. She inhaled the musk of his arousal as she pushed his jeans down past his hips, down past his knees. She licked her lips, growing wet with want of him.

"Fuck, Jess, what are you doing?!" Sam cried, moving to push her away.

She pushed his hands away and took him into her mouth, sucking on him gently, her tongue sliding along his length. He tried to push her away, but she caught his hands in hers and sucked a little harder. Her head bobbed as she took him in, as much as she could, moving to get different angles. She slid her tongue across his hard length, moved so that the sensitive head slid along her gums and the inside of her cheek. She shifted so that the head rubbed against her palate as she traced patterns along the underside of his cock with her tongue. Sam stopped fighting her, arching his hips to give her better access. He tried so hard not to thrust against her, to fuck her mouth even though he wanted to so desperately. He cradled the back of her head with one of his big hands, moaning, trying so hard to keep from bucking into her mouth with wild abandon as he came ever closer to coming. When he did, Jessica swallowed him down.

Sam could barely breathe as Jessica released his soft cock with a satisfied smile. She looked up at him with perfect trust in her eyes, golden curls circling her face. "I love you, Sam," she whispered.

"But, Jess..." he protested, voice weak to his own ears. _What the fuck?_ he wanted to ask. _What the fuck just happened and why did I let it?_

"No, Sam. No buts." She nuzzled his cock, smiling when it jerked against her soft cheek. "I love you. I don't want you to go away. You'll leave me and you won't ever come back."

"Jess, it's just college. You'll go yourself next year."

Jessica kissed the head of Sam's cock, and he groaned from the contact. It was so sensitive, and fuck if he didn't want more. "Will you wait for me?"

"Jess..."

Her hands were on his hips, fingers cupping the curve of his ass. She licked the head of his cock, then looked up at him through her golden lashes. "I love you, Sam." He could see her peaked nipples through the thin white fabric of the dress. It hid nothing. "I've dreamt of this for years, and I know you have, too. I want to show you how much I love you."

"This is _wrong,"_ Sam told her in a strangled voice.

"It can't be, if I love you this much," Jessica whispered, shaking her head. "I've always loved you this much."

She pulled him down on top of her, her white dress spread out beneath them. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his torso. She kissed him, hot and open, the vague bitter taste of him on her tongue. Sam couldn't think as the sensations rolled through him, as he breathed in the musky scent of her want, as his cock brushed across her damp curls. "Jess," he moaned, giving it one last try. "We can't."

She stroked the back of his head and laughed, the sound like the tinkling of a thousand silver bells. "Of course we can, Sam. I want you to."

With a groan, he thrust into her. It didn't matter that he was her first, that the strangled moan was a mix of pleasure and pain and want. He sucked on a breast and thrust into her tight, wet heat, closing his eyes as he did so. This was wrong. This was sick. This was impossible.

This also felt absolutely amazing.

Sam couldn't understand how the others didn't see it when he stumbled back into the house. He didn't understand how his parents could take in Jessica's stained dress and believe her when she said she had fallen while doing cartwheels in the field behind the house. He didn't understand how it wasn't marked on his face what they had done, how much he had liked it and how much he wanted to do it again. He didn't understand how his parents didn't hear when Jessica slipped into the shower with him that evening and pushed him up against the tile, her lithe naked body pressed to his. Sam couldn't believe it that no one heard his grunts as he pushed up into her, as he seized her mouth with his, as he made her come three times with lips and teeth and tongue and cock.

Was this meant to be, then? Why else would no one know?

Sam went to Stanford on a full scholarship, the perfect golden son. Somehow Jessica had gotten John to back down on his arguments against California, and somehow Jessica convinced them that Sam would be all right once she arrived there for Stanford as well.

It was a difficult year. Everywhere Sam went, he thought he saw Jessica out of the corner of his eye, even if it didn't make any kind of sense. He rented his own apartment near campus, but it didn't stop the double takes. Jessica was finishing her senior year of high school. Jessica was in Colorado. Jessica wasn't in California yet, though she had her heart set on Stanford and Sam and sharing his apartment. His friends didn't know he had a sister. They knew about Dean, that he was scarily brilliant at literature and folklore studies and was primed for his Ph.D. faster than any other grad student in his program, that he knew people inside and out and was all but guaranteed a tenure track teaching position at the University of Colorado. There were pictures of Dean and the Winchester parents in Sam's apartment, but there were no pictures or tales of Jessica. She was a secret, a dirty secret, and Sam couldn't bring himself to even whisper her name outside of dreams. When she arrived in California, because her heart was truly set on it, she would be a complete stranger to his friends.

When it did happen, Sam instantly forgot the misery of the previous year. He had tried dating, but it wasn't the same. Those girls didn't kiss him correctly, didn't fuck him the right way. They didn't know him, didn't know how to please him properly. They didn't seem to want to try, and things always fell apart quickly. He _tried_ to get over Jessica, he _tried._ It was wrong and he _tried,_ but it seemed as though he couldn't resist the memory of her mouth on his, her hands on his back pulling him closer. He would fuck another girl and dream of Jessica, feel her body mold to his in a way that no other girl could. It wasn't the same, and all he wanted was Jessica back in his bed at night.

It was like magic the night she moved in. Not even bothering to unpack, Jessica stripped down in front of Sam in his bedroom. Sam's heart pounded; as much as he had dreamt of this, it was still wrong on so many levels and he hadn't quite wrapped his head around the fact that he really, really wanted to fuck his little sister. With difficulty, he looked her in the eye. "We shouldn't do this, Jessica." His voice was strangled and full of regret. "You should tell me no. Stop me. We shouldn't be doing this."

Jessica reached out and cupped his face in response, pressing her chest against his. "Yes, Sam."

He slept in boxers usually, and the impact of skin on skin was too much to bear. With a groan, he kissed her deeply, tongue sliding in when she opened her mouth beneath his. Their tongues dueled, tasting and exploring each others' mouths. When Sam broke the kiss for air, Jessica fell back across the bed. He looked at her, almost terrified, and licked his lips nervously. He knelt before her, where she lay offering herself. "You can still... We don't have to do this. You can still tell me no." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. His eyes were pleading with her. "Tell me no."

"Yes," Jessica whispered, reaching for him. "A thousand times, yes."

With a groan, Sam chucked his boxers and moved between her spread legs. He hooked her leg over his shoulder and buried his face between her thighs, inhaling the musky scent of her sex before sweeping his tongue out to taste her. She moaned, fingers threading through his hair. He licked and suckled, using his tongue and teeth, taking pleasure in each noise, each moan, each sigh he drew from her. When she finally came, he rode the peak, drinking her in. He lifted his head, taking in the sight of her loose-limbed sprawl, her chest heaving with each breath. He let her leg fall from his shoulder and crawled up her body, licking his lips before pressing her into the bed. Sam began kissing her, letting her taste herself on his lips.

It was heaven when sank within her depths. She arched her hips to meet his thrusts, running her hands along his back. Sam moved with deep, sure strokes, his breath coming in short pants. Those other girls were nothing but practice, nothing but more experience to use to pleasure Jessica. They meant nothing, nothing at all. This was everything, this was what he had been too scared to dream of, even though he wanted it more than anything. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to keep from coming too soon. She felt exquisite, a perfect fit. Jessica was made for him. He could feel her inner muscles working, grasping at him, and it took all his concentration to keep himself from spilling everything. She grew even tighter around him as she approached orgasm. He reached between their bodies and thumbed her clit. He had to bite his lip harder at the strangled cry she made, the way she arched her body against his.

And then she came, milking his cock, unable to contain herself any longer. With a grunt, Sam opened his eyes and let go.

Jessica gave a contented sigh as he settled on top of her. She ran her fingers through his hair, her knees bent and thighs pressed against his hips. "Mm. Wonderful. I missed you, Sammy. I missed you so much it hurt."

Sam buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled her scent. It was addictive, and the only thing that could soothe his wild pulse. "I love you, Jess," he moaned, pressing his lips against her racing pulse point. "God, I love you so much."

He kissed her, slowly and gently. She responded with the same passion she had earlier, the same artless enthusiasm she gave everything. This was what he had missed all year, this was what he needed to feel normal and whole. It broke his heart to realize it. He could never tell anyone the truth, never.

Her bedroom was for show, for when their parents arrived for visits. The rest of the time, Jessica slept in Sam's oversized bed. She straddled his waist and moaned his name as she rocked against him, inner muscles clenched tight around Sam's cock. She clutched at the sheets on Sam's bed when he grasped her hips to keep them still as he licked her clit. Sam knew exactly where her spot was and could crook his finger inside her _right there,_ and could make her come in a blink of an eye if he wanted to. Sam knew how much she loved it when he bent her over the kitchen table to take her from behind, or when he shoved her up against the wall to fuck her senseless. Jessica knew just how to stroke his balls to add an extra jolt of pleasure when she was on top or sideways, knew just how to stroke the head of his cock when she was getting him ready for more.

She let him do whatever he wanted to her as long as they both came, and she laughed at his incredulous expression the first time she suggested a threesome. He could never share her with another man, but they were more than happy with the first girl they brought home from a club. The girl straddled Sam's face as Jessica took in Sam's cock, and kissed Jessica with the same reckless abandon that she kissed Sam. The girl sucked on Sam as he sucked on Jessica, and she was happy to lick Jessica's clit as Sam fucked her and kissed Jessica at the same time. Sam watched as the girl fucked Jessica six different ways, stroking his cock. The girl sucked his cock again, head bent over his seated form. Jessica came up behind the girl's kneeling body and plunged her fingers into the girl's wet center, finger fucking her until she came. Jessica pressed her breasts against the girl's back, looking up at Sam's dazed expression as she licked her fingers clean. The girl swallowed Sam's come then turned to kiss Jessica again. As the girl's fingers found Jessica's swollen clit, Sam took her from behind. They fell asleep in a tangled heap, but the girl slipped away in the morning before they woke. Neither had even gotten her name.

Jessica's world was perfect. Classes were boring and stupid, but necessary for a degree and the proximity to Sam. She didn't care about school anymore; all she wanted was Sam. She wanted to feel his hands across her back and his lips on her pulse. She wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to see his control shatter as he came. She wanted to feel his arms around her as she fell asleep, his limbs all tangled with hers in the morning. She wanted him whipering her name in reverence, holding her close as he fucked her into submission. She had everything she ever wanted now, and it was _fabulous._

Of course, it couldn't last.

Jessica stared dumbfounded at the little pink plus sign on the little plastic pregnancy test. She couldn't comprehend this. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. They had been careful, and it had been fun, but somehow something went wrong and there was going to be a child. Getting rid of the child didn't even enter her mind, even though she feared delivery. Having a baby was going to make things different, and there were going to have to be explanations and more lies.

Sam was ecstatic, and his joy slowly set aside Jessica's worries. A child was a physical manifestation of their love. Of course John and Mary would be upset, and Jessica could never tell them who the father was. Sam would have to be called an uncle only, and Jessica could never tell their parents how much she truly loved him.

Christmas break was strained. While John and Mary were upset that Jessica wouldn't be able to finish college on time, they accepted her decision to keep the baby. They accepted Sam's statements that he would take care of her even if she decided not to return to class. Dean watched them all with dark eyes, face immobile. He didn't say a word, even if Sam could feel Dean's suspicions slide along his spine. Dean didn't know, not for sure, and would never say a word until he was sure. Sam had been counting on that from the beginning.

Jessica's pregnancy went forward without a hitch. She had only two weeks of nausea, and the rest of the first trimester went by. Once she was no longer as tired, her hormones sent her libido into overdrive. If she was horny before, she was a thousand times more so now. She had to have Sam inside her at least daily, if not twice daily. Sam was exhausted, between his classes and fucking Jessica as often as she wanted it. He wanted her happy and he wanted her, period. They didn't go out clubbing anymore; Jessica didn't like dancing while sober at those kinds of places, and Sam didn't want to pick up any more strange girls. He wanted Jessica all to himself, tired as he was, and liked the feel of her curled up around him. Once the swell of her stomach began to flutter with their child's kicks, he was entranced. Jessica would kneel on all fours and he would grasp her hips as he drove into her, feeling the flutter of something against his fingertips. She wanted Sam all the time, every which way possible, any time or place she could get it. It was all he could do to focus at class.

Jessica was due at the height of summer. John, Mary and Dean arrived in Stanford for the occasion, each of them excited to meet the newest Winchester. The labor was long and intensive, but Jessica was refusing to convert to a C-section. She wanted to do it naturally, and screamed holy hell at every doctor that even mentioned the word surgery. John couldn't take the sight of his daughter in pain, and stepped out into the hallway. He told his family he needed a cup of coffee, and Dean's eyes seemed to catch him in the lie. Dean always seemed able to sniff out lies.

John was coming back to Jessica's room with a cup of nasty hospital coffee in hand when he thought he saw a familiar flash of red. He turned his head to track it, and stiffened in recognition. _Her._ He had never wanted to see her again, even if payment was long past due.

"John," the crossroads demon purred, smiling at him. She had snagged the same kind of body to collect her payment, no doubt so that John could recognize her. The host was a voluptuous redhead in a nurse's uniform, and she was headed directly for Jessica's room.

"Leave us alone. You promised."

"All those of the generations present, John," the demon reminded him. She cupped his face with one hand, the nails long and painted red. He thought they were rather more like talons than nails, and held himself very still. There had to be a way out of this...

"Listen. I'll make you a deal..."

"Too late for cost counting, John," she chided gently. "A life for a life. One not of those generations present. Surely you knew this day would come, John. There's no escaping this kind of deal. I've been more than generous in exacting payment from you."

"You couldn't have known..." John began in a strangled voice. "We've never been in California before."

Her laughter was like shattering glass, and John flinched. "Did you think physical distance could keep me away? Did you think _mortal_ distance could save you?" Her eyes grew cold and pure black. "You aren't that ignorant, John Winchester. You received an extra child who begat an extra child. A _gift_ born of guilt and lies and sin, and this is all she will ever be capable of. I know her. Whatever name you call her, I know her and her kind, and the havoc she will wreak." The demon curled her hand around John's cheek, her nails pressed against John's skin. It felt almost like razors. "She is mine, John Winchester. Now and forever, and she is my due in our deal."

John watched helplessly as the demon pushed herself closer to him, molding her body against his. She kissed him, tongue sliding into his mouth, razor talons against his cheek. It felt as though she was drawing something out of him, something vital and important.

He felt himself sliding down the wall when she let go, a marionette puppet cut from its strings. The demon floated past him, gliding into Jessica's room. He began to shake with dread, not knowing what was about to happen. Would the demon take Jessica? Or Baby Girl Winchester? Was she going to take Mary back? John had no idea what the crossroads demon was about to do, and he was too paralyzed to do anything about it.

A gift born of lies and guilt and sin. Any one of them could fit the bill.

John covered his face with his hands. He couldn't breathe. Feet passed by him, walking rapidly, and he thought they smelled like smoke and sulfur. He shut his eyes as tight as he could, curling his hands into fists. He wanted to hit someone, something, anything. He wanted to _hurt_ something as badly as he hurt right then, and he didn't know what else to do. He had asked for this. He had gotten what he wanted and he asked for this. It had been dirty and bad and wrong and he had done it anyway. He had asked for this, and he couldn't complain now. He got what he wanted, and it was the demon's turn now.

It was all he could do to keep from slitting his own throat.

He tuned it out when the screaming began, when the rush of feet began. His nose was filled with the scent of smoke. He was in the fire in Lawrence, Kansas again. He was watching Mary on fire, stuck to the ceiling and eyes pleading with him. _Help me, John!_ she tried to say. _Help me!_

Smoke and fire and sulfur, demons and death.

John had asked for this. Knowing it couldn't possibly end well, he had asked for it anyway and had willed himself to forget all about the deal.

He asked for this, the easy way out of his grief twenty-two years ago. He had started on this slippery slope into his own personal hell, and now he didn't know any way out of it. _I didn't mean to!_ he wanted to say. He wanted to beg forgiveness, but he didn't know who from or what for. He wanted to cry, but it felt as though he was burning, and there were no tears left to shed. He was sinking quickly, no way out of it, no way back to where he used to be. There was no turning back, no redoing his mistakes, no do overs.

_The downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back._

 

The End.


End file.
